Big Fish in a Little Bond
by White Eyebrow
Summary: A villain is just a victim whose story has yet to be written... This is another bit of fluff written for The Houses Competition, Year 5, Round Four.


_House: Gryffindor (The only house that matters)_

_Class Subject: Potions_

_Category: Standard_

_Prompt: [Crossover] James Bond_

_Word Count: less than 2500 (google docs), less than 50 (Author's notes)_

_A/N: In my head canon the giant's brutish nature is the result of a retrovirus, the onset of which is delayed in a rare few._

* * *

Big Fish in a Little Bond

Ryszard rose to his feet and brushed himself off, ignoring the burn marks that spotted his dark robes. He regarded the cracks in the wall of the rundown, abandoned building he had just slammed into after having suffered a Knockback Jinx. He retrieved his wand that had fallen out of his grasp; it looked like a small pencil in his huge hands.

The dust settled after the battle, and quiet returned to the slums of Hogsmeade. The conflagration was fast and furious; the bodies of three wizards laid on the street, one of which was tended to by two Death Eaters. The Dark wizards aimed their wands as Ryszard approached, startled by his loud footfalls that preceded him in the darkness.

Death Eater Crabbe relaxed when he recognized the big man. "How did you survive that curse, Ryszard?"

Ryszard did not respond, rather fixing his gaze on the prostrated wizard at their feet.

Death Eater Dolohov answered in his stead. "You have to ask? Look at the size of him, Crabbe. It is convenient, having our very own half-giant."

"I am a wizard," Ryszard said in rebuke. He knelt and turned the body over—a young Auror with red hair.

Crabbe frowned. "We got the drop on them, and they still managed to kill two of our guys."

Satisfied, Ryszard rose, towering head-and-shoulders above his Death Eaters companions. "Which one was he?"

"Fabian Prewett," Dolohov said.

"Is he dead?" Crabbe questioned.

Dolohov pointed his wand. "_Crucio!"_ The corpse did not move. "Very."

"His brother fled into that building," Crabbe said, pointing. "We should get out of here before he calls for help."

"Relax," Dolohov said. "I've cast a hex around the building; it'll prevent him from sending a Patronus. But, one of you will need to go in and flush him out."

"The _giant_ should go. It's about time he earned his stripes."

Ryszard narrowed his eyes. "I am a wizard," he persisted.

"Whatever, mate." Crabbe grinned. "We'll keep you covered."

_Coward…_ Ryszard had not been impressed by these so-called Death Eaters. Although they were welcoming enough, he made no illusions as to his role as an enforcer in this war. But, at least it was steady work. He headed for the darkened abode, thoughts brewing in his mind of how things had come to this point in his life.

—oOo—

He remembered his last day at Durmstrang as a young wizard. Ryszard stood in the centre of the office, looking down on the older wizard in dark red robes. He would never forget the disdain he saw in his headmaster's eyes.

"I am to be expelled?

The Headmaster stroked his greying beard, looking up at the youth. "Not expelled, Ryszard, dismissed. The only reason you have made it this far is because of your father's standing, but your great size invites too many questions that have become more and more difficult to explain away over the years."

"I have just as much right to be here as everyone else."

"Perhaps, but you should know that tradition runs deep here at Durmstrang, Ryszard. There is nothing I can do."

Ryszard left the office; there was to be no further ceremony, no pursuit of an appeal. At this age he was already no stranger to rejection, and he knew this wouldn't be the last time.

—oOo—

_Lumos… Lumos… Lumos… Lumos…_

Decaying embers trailed from the tip of Ryszard's wand as he flicked it, but his anaemic nonverbal magic failed to illuminate the darkness. Undeterred, he explored the dilapidated structure. The floorboards creaked under his massive weight, giving away his position with every step. He ducked under the archway past the foyer, unable to stand fully erect with the low ceiling grazing the top of his head.

A flash of red disarmed him. He looked to the source; the wizard Gideon came out of hiding:

"_Expulso!"_

Ryszard was ready; he instinctively covered up as the spell struck his muscled chest. He pushed through the pain, charging the Auror.

"_Excelsiosempra!"_

The spell sent Ryszard crashing into the ceiling; his massive back cracked the building's superstructure that supported the storey above. He landed on his side, and the floor quaked.

The battle paused as both mens' attention was drawn toward a loud creaking sound; the room started to sway as if floating off its foundation. A large crack started to grow into the wall, followed by many others. The last of the supports gave way, and everything came crashing down around them.

Gideon instinctively dove for cover while Ryszard caught what remained of the house's "spine."

Two laboured breaths sounded in the darkness.

"_Lumos."_

The light of Gideon's wand illuminated the newly created crawl space supported across Ryszard's broad shoulders. Gideon himself laid pinned under the rubble. The remnants of the house continued to creak, but found an equilibrium leveraged upon the strength of the large half-human.

Gideon coughed to clear the dust from his lungs. "What of my brother?"

Ryszard continued to struggle to hold up the beam, but managed to reply, "D-dead."

Gideon clenched his jaw, choking back the tears. He already knew, but to hear it crushed all vestiges of hope within him. "I should blow you apart where you stand, you _fatherless_ bastard!"

"Th-then the structure will come down on b-both of us…."

Gideon panned his light about, getting a lay of the area, especially the broken ceiling that teetered precariously above; his enemy was telling the truth. He lowered his wand. "It seems like what we have here is a Mexican standoff."

Ryszard closed his eyes, trying to concentrate on anything other than the heavy beam digging into his shoulder.

—oOo—

_Fatherless…_. Ryszard recalled the last time he saw his father—like it was yesterday. He entered his family home after a long day of trekking through the city looking for work. Ryszard found him seated in his favourite chair by the fireplace; a half-empty bottle of vodka rested on the side table.

Young Ryszard approached. "Papa?"

His face was bruised, and a trail of dried blood pointed to a laceration above his left eye. With the glass at his lips, the older wizard kicked his head back and gulped loudly.

Ryszard grimaced at the display. "Papa? You're hurt."

Unconcerned, his father refilled his glass. "Did you get the job?"

"No, papa."

"Figures." He drank most of the contents with a single swallow. "People are starting to suspect your heritage. I doubt anyone will want to work with you now."

Ryszard frowned."What happened to you?"

"Your mother happened..." He snorted. "I had the temerity to believe that she would take you in and away from here."

This gave the youth a start. "My mother? You told me she was dead!"

The father shrugged. "She abandoned us, so she might as well have been."

"I don't understand, papa." The son leaned against the wall, looking down to his feet. "Why did you have me only to hate me?"

He swished the remaining vodka in his glass. The smell of alcohol was heavy on his breath. "She used to be beautiful, your mother... She looked just like any other person, only _big_—I thought she was a goddess." He emptied the glass with a gauche slurp. "She said she belonged to a special tribe; she said that our child would also be special."

"Why did she leave, then?"

The father regarded his son with disappointment. "Because she was wrong; she's not special, and neither are you."

The son regarded his father with a glower. "Where is she...?" With clenched fists he punched a hole in the wall; the pictures hung thereon rattled. "TELL ME!"

The father was not impressed. "And what do you expect will happen, Ryszard? Do you think she will welcome you with loving arms?" He then chortled, saying with a forward nod, "On the coffee table… that's all the gold I can spare; take it and leave."

Ryszard glanced at the pathetically small leather bag. "Why are you doing this?"

"Because I see _her_ in you!" He pointed his wand threateningly. "And it is only a matter of time before _you_ will become just like her!"

"But… what am I supposed to do? Where am I supposed to go?"

He shrugged. "Go to the island… they're more tolerant of your kind."

Ryzard took the gold and started for the door. He regarded his father one last time with defiance in his eyes. "I am a wizard!" And he left.

—oOo—

Gideon struggled to free his legs; his wand, cracked from the battle, was almost useless for anything more than providing light. He noticed with curiosity Ryszard's forearm, made bare as the giant's sleeve had crumpled from the effort of supporting the ceiling. "You're not a Death Eater, are you?"

"N-no," Ryszard said. His legs were starting to shake. "This is just a job."

"Why do you work for them?"

"My kind are f-forced to take work wherever they can get it."

"Excuses... I have a friend who's also a half-giant; he's the finest man I know."

"Yes... They told me about your pet... Hagrid, yes?" Ryszard leered when Gideon's eyes narrowed. "You're very accepting him, as long as he stays in his place... relegated to living in his little hut like a hermit in the forest."

"At least he's better than you!"

"Easy for you to judge when society gives _you_ all of the advantages, and all of the p-p-privileges—"

"And what do you think the Death Eaters are going to offer you? A piece of the pie?" Resigned to his fate, Gideon smiled in a moment of frankness. "You will always be a little fish in a big pond..."

_Little…_ Ryszard chuckled, even as the ceiling gave way.

The roof and floor above collapsed in on them.

—oOo—

'Little' was never a word used to describe Ryszard before.

He remembered how oversized he felt in the employment office when he first arrived at Britain's Ministry of Magic. He squeezed himself in the small plush pink chair. Though seated, his knees were still higher than the desk of the official that sat across from him. He regarded her nameplate set between two pictures of her pet kittens: Dolores Umbridge.

Umbridge pursed her lips as she reviewed his application while casually stirring her tea. "You should consider changing your name."

"Sorry?"

Her mouth quivered as she inwardly struggled to enunciate the foreign word. "_Ryszard…_ It's unusual."

"But, it is my name."

"Surely, you don't want to complicate things using a name that is difficult to pronounce. You're going to have a hard enough time fitting in as it is."

"What do you mean?"

For the first time she regarded him. She removed her reading glasses. "Your height… that's quite an achievement for a _normal_ wizard."

Having had enough, he rose from the chair, making their disparity in height more pronounced. "Is it against the law _not_ being the size of a pale toad?"

Umbridge craned her neck, returning his glare with a saccharine smile of her own. She stamped the form and handed it to him. "Here you go. Report to Magical Maintenance first thing in the morning; they'll fashion you with a uniform—" her smile broadened "—though they might need to stitch two together for you."

"Magical Maintenance?" He scowled as he continued to read the form. "I am to be a janitor?"

"I'm afraid that's all we have for someone with your qualifications—or lack thereof. "

She gave a start when his hand snapped into a fist, thus crumpling the paper in his grasp. He turned, ducking his head under the threshold, and left.

Umbridge calmly finished her tea; the cup trembled in her fingers.

—oOo—

Seated on a curb, Ryszard winced as Dolohov waved his wand over his face. The bones magically knitting together sounded like a bag of dried pasta being crushed. His cracked teeth fell to the ground, replaced by a serrated row of magic metal.

Crabbe looked on impressed. "You _are_ tough; a bloody house falls on you, and all you come away with is a broken jaw..." He then regarded the ruins of the house that was now Gideon's tomb. "But, it was worth it to take out that Auror in the process."

Having finished the magical surgery, Dolohov sheathed his wand. "That's the best I can do for now."

Ryszard rose, dusting himself off as he opened his mouth wide to stretch the muscles in his aching face. His lips struggled to fully cover his new oversized dentures.

Crabbe snorted in amusement. "Now that's a set of jaws if I ever saw one."

Dolohov handed Ryszard a small mirror that he had magically transfigured from a piece of debris that he retrieved from the ground. "That should hold you until we can get you to a proper Healer."

Ryszard massaged his chin as he regarded his reflection. "Don't bother… I like it."

Dolohov shrugged. "Well, the Dark Lord will be pleased, at least. We're sure to be rewarded."

Inspired by the words, Ryszard regarded the destruction and dead bodies scattered about: the price of reward. He drew his wand, held securely with only two fingers, and he twirled it nervously out of habit. "To what end is all this?"

Crabbe blinked, nonplussed. "To win the war, of course."

"But, how will that change anything?" Ryszard said. "I see no higher purpose in this job?"

"Service to the Dark Lord _is_ the higher purpose," Dolohov replied.

Ryszard's wand stilled in his hand. He remembered the Auror's final words to him, and he clenched his hand into a fist, snapping his wand in twain... It was time for him to be the big fish. "I do not wish to serve your Dark Lord," he said in response to their quizzical stares. "I will serve myself."

Crabbe brandished his wand as the big man turned to leave. "Hey! You don't just walk away from the Death Eaters!"

Ryszard paused, keeping his back to his former compatriots. He glanced over his shoulder, baring his metal teeth with a sinister smile. "And who's going to stop me, stick monkey?"

Crabbe and Dolohov wisely decided not to press the issue.

Satisfied, Ryszard left, determined to strike out on his own. He massaged his jaw; speaking had become uncomfortable, but it was a small price to pay.

~Deireadh~

* * *

_You had a good run, Bond, you hero across the pond._  
_The knight's sword is sheathed on All Hallows' Eve._

_Pussygalore got Thunderball'd_  
_you walked with finesse_  
_saved the world from SPECTRE_  
_and made No say '_yes'.

_Woe! Are there no more gadgets in Q's production?_  
_For today 'ideology' begets _Mutually Assured Destruction.

_2020 sees another icon fall... I am now officially numb to it all._


End file.
